Superpowers

SATURDAY May 19, 2001 Charlie Frost had the look of someone waiting for a punch line. It wasn't that he seemed about to burst out laughing, but that he had an anxious way about him--as if he were afraid the joke was on him, or worse, that he wasn't going to get it. He was pale and tall and bit his nails and habitually forgot to get his hair cut for months at a time, so that his brown locks ranged from close-cropped and neat to moppish and view-obstructing. Charlie was on day forty-one of his most recent haircut, and he looked like the scruffy fifth member of a struggling boy band. Judging by his ensemble--wrinkled green army pants, a Nike T-shirt, and red Chuck Taylor sneakers--the band's wardrobe person had either taken the day off or was hoping to be fired. Charlie and two other young men shared a second-floor flat, if that was the word. Flat implied sprawl, and one thing their apartment didn't do was sprawl. It creaked, sagged, and let cold air in during winter, but it did not sprawl. The building was in its early forties, and after half a dozen renovations most of its rooms were higher than they were wide. It was a terrible place for a party. Charlie and Jack had gotten around that problem by setting up on their front deck, and by inviting only three guests. The alcohol they had brewed themselves, or Jack had. His brother Lloyd had given him a brewing kit for Christmas, and this was his third attempt at making beer. The first batch had turned green, and he had put too much yeast in the second; one night in April Charlie had woken to the sound of exploding bottles. He'd thought it was someone shooting out the windows, and he'd fumbled around in the dark for a phone to call 911 until Jack knocked on his door and told him it was the beer. Jack was not as tall as Charlie, but he was more physically impressive, with coal black hair and broad shoulders. He had grown up on a farm an hour from Madison, and Charlie had wondered a few times if his parents had ever strapped him to the plow. "We should have backup," Charlie said. "What if the beer doesn't turn out?" "It'll turn out fine." Jack inspected the refrigerator, which contained the beer, five frosted glasses, and an empty bottle of ketchup. "Besides, backup is your department, Dr. Nelson." Dr. Frank Nelson was the name on Charlie's fake ID. He was cautious about using it because the photo was of a bearded man, and Charlie had never needed to shave more than twice a week. There was also the matter of the 270 pounds the license credited Dr. Nelson with, easily twice the amount of flesh clinging to Charlie's bones. Despite this, Charlie had managed to lay his hands on a couple of bottles of Captain Morgan, which he had hidden in his room. He was half-hoping that Jack's Madison Maibock would turn out to be undrinkable. Then he would have a chance to save the party, and score some points with Caroline. Caroline Bloom didn't know it, but she was one of the primary reasons for the party. Charlie had wanted her from the day he had first seen her, on August 15, 2000. August 15 was the traditional and much-dreaded moving day for renters in Madison, a day of U-Hauls, abandoned furniture, and enough cardboard boxes to enclose the campus in a corrugated wall. Charlie had been carrying a crate filled with CDs from Jack's truck when he saw Caroline for the first time. It was ninety-four degrees and humid, but while Charlie was sweaty and sunburned, Caroline's shoulders showed tanned and healthy under her yellow tank top. She sat on the front steps, drinking from a bottle of water while a pair of young men struggled to fit a couch through the front door of 523. Her brown hair was tied back from her neck, and Charlie stared as she swallowed. She saw him as she finished drinking and smiled. "Moving in upstairs?" she asked. He nodded. "Maybe I'Schwartz, David J. is the author of 'Superpowers' with ISBN 9780307394408 and ISBN 0307394409.